


Dead Ringer

by farawayfiction (JJ_Thomas)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ_Thomas/pseuds/farawayfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old, unsolved case comes back to haunt Phryne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Ringer

**Author's Note:**

> "Dead Ringer" started as a series of interconnecting drabbles and took on a life of its own. Look for short chapters with an overarching story. Enjoy!

“That’s her,” Phryne muttered with disbelief. Without any explanation, she bolted from their picnic blanket and raced through the park toward the street.

Despite his confusion, Jack recognized abandonment in her inexplicable behavior. So singularly focused, she’d be blind to possible danger. He rose and ran after her immediately, a knot forming in his stomach. “Miss Fisher!”

A lorry turned the corner block as Jack closed the distance. It picked up speed as it straightened.

Phryne stepped off the curb without looking, desperate to continue the chase, right into the path of the moving vehicle. The driver frantically pumped his brakes, horn forgotten.

Jack’s eyes grew wide, his momentum intensifying and his heart thundering. With no time to spare, he leapt. Arms flung out to encompass her a second before he slammed into her. Together they were propelled forward, beyond the lorry’s reach and into the opposite lane. Instinctively, he twisted as they fell, protecting her body from impact. Jack landed hard, his hip and shoulder bearing the brunt. He remained motionless for a moment, fighting to regain his breath, Phryne still in his grasp.

“We lost her,” she wailed.

But he hadn’t lost Phryne. That was all that mattered.

(OneWord prompt: Ringer.)


	2. Sunset

“It couldn’t possibly have been her,” Phryne declared, rightly horrified by her own actions and the danger she’d placed Jack in that very afternoon. After she’d come to her right mind, she realized they both could have been killed. All over a case of mistaken identity. She was sure of it.

“She’d be _much_ older now. By a good twenty years, at least,” she added, rummaging through a keepsake box she’d brought into the parlor.

Jack might have found it easier to make sense of her ramblings had it not been for the mass of bruises developing on his right side. His body ached miserably and his hip was painfully stiff. Two glasses of whiskey consumed, he yearned for a hot bath and the arrival of sunset. The sooner he could put himself and this day to bed, the better. “Phryne,” he sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

She looked up abruptly.

“Please. Just-” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Start from the beginning.”

She hesitated, a sad and lost expression forming on her face. “It was a dying man’s last wish,” she confessed.

This cleared up none of Jack’s confusion.

“He asked me to find his mother.”

(OneWord prompt: Sunset.)


	3. Human

Although desperately needed, sleep withheld its restorative slumber. Physical discomfort and concern for Phryne’s state of mind kept Jack doggedly awake in the darkness of the bedroom. Beside him, Phryne wrestled with her nocturnal demons. Blood on her hands. A war that raged on around her. The pleas of those who would never return. Promises she had yet to keep. Self-appointed responsibilities left undone. Resolutions beyond her grasp.

She took nothing seriously because to do so would have crushed her.

Jack knew what nightmares could do to a soul. He was ready to receive her when she rolled over crying.

(OneWord prompt: Human.)


	4. Normal

Waking ridiculously late, they agreed a day in would be for the best. Jack had made it as far as sitting up on the edge of the bed, his unbuttoned nightshirt pushed back and down around his arms. Phryne saddled up behind him and gently placed the wrapped ice to his colorful shoulder. He winced involuntarily, his whole body stiffening. After a hitched breath, the tension began to bleed away. She wished she could see his face.

“How’s the pain?”

He thought about lying. The shoulder was manageable. The hip was swollen. “I’m afraid our next tennis match will have to be postponed. Dancing is right out.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. “I’ll telephone Mac.”

“No,” he responded quickly, hoping to prevent a hasty retreat. “I’ll be alright.”

She remained, unconvinced. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Silence was the only response.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered. _For coming to my rescue. Again._

The upward twitch of a lip went unobserved. “A world without Miss Phryne Fisher would be a dull place indeed.”

She leaned a cheek to the opposite and uninjured shoulder. “What am I going to do, Jack?”

“What you do normally,” he stated confidently. “Solve the mystery.”

(OneWord prompt: Normal.)


	5. Channel

For the second time in as many days, Jack awoke feeling anything but well rested. He’d tossed and turned throughout the night, neither comfortable in motion nor in stillness. At sporadic intervals of awareness, he’d turned an inspecting eye upon Phryne. Each time, he’d found her in the same position, undisturbed. This fact alone was enough to ease his troubled heart. Now if only his body would catch up.

He pondered her absence briefly before there was a knock at the door. Jane came in a minute later with a tray in her hands.

Jack tried to sit up too quickly and paid for it.

“Mr. Butler thought you might like some breakfast. I offered to bring it up,” she explained. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. No, of course not,” he replied, trying desperately to neutralize a pained expression.

She smiled and placed it on the small side table across the room. To Jack, it seemed like an unfathomable distance. He stopped her before she had the chance to slip away. “Is Miss Fisher by any chance downstairs?”

Jane shook her head. “She left early this morning.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“‘To solve a mystery.'”

The phrase meant nothing to Jane yet everything to Jack. Channeling all her determination, she had rededicated herself to the old, unsolved case. There were few things she couldn’t do when she put her mind to it. It pleased him to know she hadn’t given up. “Thank you, Jane.”

“There is one other thing she asked me to tell you.”

Both eyebrows lifted simultaneously, questioning.

“Doctor MacMillan will be here at eleven to see you.”

He groaned. “What time is it now?”

“About half past ten,” she ventured.

Jack frowned, suddenly cross. “That traitorous woman.”

Jane couldn’t help but giggle.

(OneWord prompt: Channel.)


	6. Boggle

“How was your appointment with Mac?”

“My appointment?” he echoed innocently, looking up from a copy of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

“Don’t play coy.” She deposited her handbag on the vanity and sat herself down on the edge of the bed, eager to hear his report.

“She thoroughly tortured me,” he replied with a straight face. It wasn’t altogether too far from the truth.

Phryne smirked. “I thought that was my job.”

“If you hadn’t conspired with the good doctor, it still would be.”

She wasn’t sure she liked where this was headed. “Not good news I take it.”

“Nothing I didn’t already suspect.” He was being deliberately evasive.

“Jack.” His name crossed her lips as a warning. There was more to the story and she wanted every last bit of information.

“I may have injured the joint.”

Regret washed over her. This was all her fault. He wouldn’t have been hurt at all if she hadn’t-

“Don’t.”

A sharp glare couldn’t deter him.

“I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Don’t be remorseful-”

“It only confuses you,” she finished, remembering an earlier statement he’d made.

That she could even recall the comment coaxed a small smile from him. “How proceeds your investigation?” he inquired, desirous of changing the subject.

She saw right through the ploy. “That’s not how this works. You answer my questions first. _Then_ I’ll answer yours.”

He considered her for a moment, leaning his head to the side. It seemed there was no avoiding the matter. “I’m to stay off my feet for the next few days-”

Phryne snorted.

“- and rest.”

“And do you intend to?”

He was reluctant to answer. Logically, he knew it to be good advice. On the other hand, Phryne was in the middle of a case of her own, one that had likely ramifications. Rarely did he abide the sidelines with any amount of patience or grace.

“I didn’t think so.” It almost sounded like a challenge.

“You think I’m incapable?”

She grinned mischievously. “It isn’t your style.”

He dipped his chin, recognizing the truth in her assessment. “I haven’t decided. I don’t often have the luxury of choice.”

“You don’t have any pressing cases right now,” she pointed out. “Unless of course you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Never,” he teased.

“The Jacobs case-”

“- is mostly unfinished paperwork.”

“And then there’s the Roberts manslaughter case-”

“You make a lovely secretary.”

She made a face. “Don’t insult me, Jack.”

“Collins made the arrest yesterday. He telephoned.”

“The Hills murder-”

“Another jurisdiction. It may cross my desk again but not anytime soon I think.”

“Sounds like an excellent time to convalesce,” she suggested strongly.

The thought of that much free time on his hands boggled his brain. It was offset by the prospect of being free of pain.

“I’ll keep you in a steady supply of books,” she promised.

“I’d much prefer the pleasure of your company. Tell me about your discoveries. What did you find while you were out today?”

Phryne lit up. “Her niece! Who provided me with not only a name but an address!”

(Prompt: Boggle.)


	7. Duty Calls

The luxury of choice died a swift death. In the early morning hours, Mr. Butler apologetically woke him to deliver a message. Constable Collins had telephoned to report a murder. On his way to the crime scene, he would swing by and pick up his superior officer. Normally it would have been enough time to prepare. His battered body reminded him the situation was anything but normal.

The medication he’d taken in the middle of the night proved to be a double edged sword as he pushed back the blankets and gingerly swung his feet to the floor. His shoulder and hip protested loudly, stiff from hours in a prone position but not nearly as painful as he expected. The cost was drastically muddled thinking. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at his knees blankly.

“Will you require assistance, sir?” Mr. Butler’s quietly sympathetic question brought his inactivity to an end.

He rose, placing the majority of his weight on the uninjured hip and testing his stability. Toppling didn’t seem to be a danger. Stubbornness would see him through the rest. “I think I can manage. Thank you.”

Mr. Butler excused himself with a small but worried nod.

Getting dressed without disturbing Phryne was a slow and awkward affair. His clothes seemed to taunt him. Everything from putting on his shoes to arranging his tie proved overly difficult. On several occasions, he regretted his decision to refuse aid. By the time he was presentable, climbing back into bed had graduated to his highest priority. He lingered over Phryne for a moment, watching her sleep peacefully and wishing desperately he could rejoin her. Regrettably, duty called. He chanced a light kiss upon her cheek before departing. A muted yet pleasurable sound formed in her throat before she unceremoniously rolled over.

Collins was waiting for him in the entryway, nervously pacing the confined space. He paused abruptly as Jack maneuvered past the small table and vase on the landing. From the expression of concern on the constable’s face, Jack surmised he didn’t exactly look his best.

“Sir, I’m sorry-”

Jack brought up a palm, ceasing the apology before it fully formed. He took the remaining steps with painstaking care and finally reached the bottom of the staircase. “Could I possibly impose upon you to drive?”

A sincere and understanding smile preceded the response. “It’s no imposition.”

(OneWord prompt: Contained.)


	8. Stabbed

“Who reported it?”

“The neighbor, sir. She noticed the back door standing open last night before retiring. When it was still open this morning, she came over to check.”

The floral print cushions on the sofa sported an elegant rose pattern. The petals nearly matched the color of the blood soaked fabric. An older woman with four holes in her chest lay upon it. Jack judged by her position she had originally been seated at the time of the murder and had then fallen to the side. No obvious signs of struggle presented themselves. The parlor had also suffered violently. Paintings and photographs had been torn from the walls and ripped to shreds, their frames discarded and broken. Books littered the floor. The knocked over side table sat next to a shattered lamp shade, a brass stand, and scattered daily correspondence.

A familiar card caught Jack’s attention, peeking out from behind a neatly opened envelope. The urge to find himself a seat was suddenly overwhelming.

Hugh was beside him instantly. “Sir, are you alright?”

The pain he had so poorly ignored during the course of his duties plagued him. “Fine, Collins,” he lied. “Would you please go outside and intercept Miss Fisher?”

Confused but obedient, Hugh turned to do as he was asked. Not a single step was taken. “I’m… She’s…”

Jack glanced over his shoulder.

Phryne stood in the entryway, stricken. Her gaze rested on the slack-jawed face of their victim. “Lillian Burns,” she breathed out in sorrowful recognition.

All her hopes of delivering a dying son’s last message were dashed.

Jack immediately reached for her.

(OneWord prompt: Stabbed. Eighth in the “Dead Ringer” series.”)


End file.
